


Schrödinger’s Kiss

by arcadevia



Series: Comfort Fics [8]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Married Life, Memories, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28405278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadevia/pseuds/arcadevia
Summary: Lance pulls all the stops for a kiss, like when he hisses at a burn from the oven and insists Keith kisses him better— of course never specifying where so oftentimes his lips meet the curl of Lance’s smile instead of tender knuckles or fingertips at the last second.His favorite excuse this time around seems to be mistletoe, regardless of how outrageous the setting and utterly bullshit Keith’s well aware of him spewing.“There’s no mistletoe above the shower, Lance.”[Complete fic here, not a preview]
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: Comfort Fics [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065521
Comments: 12
Kudos: 70





	Schrödinger’s Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted this to instagram on christmas, but alas, it has made it to this platform now. everyone say thank you halo for being pretty and persuasive and making this happen or whateverrr <3

There’s certain things Keith passively understands about Lance that he often doesn’t even remember noticing to begin with.

Like how if the man is in a particularly sour mood by bedtime, they’ll lay a fair space apart in bed with eyes shut and bodies rigid against tentious air. Keith will fall asleep with a pout tugging at his mouth along with a chipped heart, but when morning comes there’s the inevitable pressure of grounding arms around him and his husband’s chest pressed to his back. When the sensations warm his skin with content and he feels a steady breath against his neck, Keith knows even in a bitter mood, Lance holds tight to what he can’t risk losing— as if Keith would ever leave him at all.

He’s a giver. Even when he’s upset, holding someone— holding _Keith_ is just as good as being held on other nights.

Another thing, like now, has to do with a distant tune wafting through the air, the same way the scent of rich seasonings and heavy chocolate creep just around the corner. It’s enough for Keith to smell from the living room as he listens to Lance chirping lyrics to holiday songs in the kitchen, perhaps as the latter stores their dinner into tupperware containers for the Christmas party tonight.

Lance sings at the end of a day fulfilled, so no note cracks from an unsteady voice by the overthinking he’s bound to stress over time and time again, one of the more exasperating parts of being married to a perfectionist.

It pays off though during an evening like this, because when that whole to-do list is done and Lance has all the time in the world to be affectionate, it _counts_. Keith sometimes can’t help his own little bubble of laughter from a mood so contagious.

 _“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…”_ Lance sings, and Keith hears that voice growing closer over the familiar pad of footsteps. _“Just like the ones I used to know…”_

Keith curls his fingers into Kosmo’s soft fur. It rumbles from heavy breaths at the foot of the couch his own arm lazily hangs over. He tries to hide his smile into the sleeve of his sweater, but to no avail, because Lance’s voice turns clear and teasing once the cushions dip under his weight and he’s free to stretch his hand all the way up Keith’s ticklish side.

“Where the _treeetoppps_ glisten,” he punctuates with waggly fingers that pull Keith’s muscles taught as he tries to squirm away.

“Lance please—“

“And _childrennn_ listen…”

His hand reaches Keith’s _particularly sensitive_ neck and he’s got no choice now but to jolt his way up, sitting right on his bottom as he smacks away the offending flutters. “Why are you like this,” he says, but fondness coats too many syllables to decipher anything besides love.

“Alright alright,” Lance finally relents and he takes Keith’s hand more carefully. “Beware of the little cat fights, babe. Your dear husband is also holding your beloved hot chocolate, thank you very much.”

“And whose fault is that?” Keith asks with a smile.

“Completely yours if I don’t get a kiss,” Lance says. His head falls forward with a gentle breath and rests against Keith’s. “We’ve got a mistletoe above us, ya know…”

Keith huffs. “Not falling for that, Lance, and we’re on the _couch_.”

“Anything can happen…”

 _What an idiot_ , Keith thinks to himself, yet it comes with the same flush of pride from a puzzle piece fit snug, or fingers laced between his in just the same way. Lance pulls all the stops for a kiss, like when he hisses at a burn from the oven and _insists_ Keith kisses him better— of course never specifying _where_ so oftentimes his lips meet the curl of Lance’s smile instead of tender knuckles or fingertips at the last second.

His favorite excuse this time around seems to be mistletoe, regardless of how outrageous the setting and utterly bullshit Keith’s well aware of him spewing.

_“There’s no mistletoe above the shower, Lance.”_

_“Okayyy, well since we’re married I think you have to kiss me anyway,”_ Lance would say under the running water, and then literally refuse to budge so Keith could wash the foamy shampoo out of his hair. At least until his wish was granted… 

Keith does— grant it, that is. Then and now, where he takes Lance’s chin in the cradle of his hand and delivers a smooch peppered with several more. Lance is always weak from it every damn time as he falls forward (after setting the drink aside) and breathes with the folds of each kiss, only bothering to slow when a lip is stalled between Keith’s teeth.

It’s just as pleasant as before, only a year ago as lovestruck fiancé’s who’d never grown past that cupcake stage— _“It’s a cupcake_ **_lifestyle_** _, babe,”_ Lance repeatedly says. And if Keith’s subtly a little brainwashed from it then maybe he’s too content to care.

Or when they were boyfriends, and everything finally felt not only right but _free_. Lance didn’t need an excuse to come over unannounced and spook the hell out of Keith, Keith didn’t have to hide his smile before saying something like _“You have nice hands”_. He really does, they’re slender but firm even when Lance isn’t sure of himself.

Leading to… friends. Or should he say _“friends”_. Because friends don’t listen to sensual love songs together when they share earphones (he’s gotta laugh at that now, Lance was obvious and he was… _oblivious)_ , they don’t hold their breath as the other wipes away at a crumbly face mask, or _makeout_ after a few seconds of silence when the cleanup is done because the air was thick enough to choke from if they didn’t resolve everything soon enough.

He remembers that night way more vividly than he should since it infiltrated every daydream afterward for the next two months. But can he really be blamed when Lance just fucking picked him up from the bathroom counter like it was _nothing_ and gave Keith about a million and one reasons not to leave the next morning? Of course he had to anyway for Shiro or something, the aftermath is all but hazy.

So he gets it: how intoxicating only a kiss can be when the feelings from it all but age better with time.

“Okay,” Lance breathes out sheepishly with a swallow. “That was— Yeah that was good, um. Here, your drink’s probably getting cold…” He leans off of Keith to grab the mug, porcelain skidding carefully across wood before the heat of it meets Keith’s fingertips and the latter’s smug smile drinks by the rim.

He takes a few sips. “It’s good,” he nods. “The temperature is fine.”

“Yeah?” Lance asks. He can be pretty self conscious sometimes, but everything Keith says is as honest as his straightforward personality gets. God knows he’s doing a wicked service for Keith’s sweet tooth too, there’s the extra chocolate along with those hints of cinnamon in the whipped cream that tickles his nose.

“Yeah.”

Lance hums pleasantly, and when Keith finishes a good share of the drink, he leans forward and places it back on the coffee table before sparing Kosmo some pets and ear scratches for a share of that familial love.

It’s ideal in all senses that matter to him. Basking in the company of those he cares for dearly, the radio still droning on mellow, nostalgic tunes, and being tucked away in another stolen sweater from Lance’s towering collection. It’s honestly starting to become his own too.

“Hunk’s Christmas party is in about half an hour, we should leave soon,” Lance says.

“M’kay.”

He doesn’t wanna leave, it feels like this moment only just started and now they’re up and about for the next that’s waiting to unfold. In the meantime of preparing, he doesn’t mind it as much though. Lance bought him new comfy boots as a personal gift for Christmas Eve, and his feet have never been happier, especially now that the extra inch has got him up to Lance’s level, and his lips don’t land too off center— something he’s always been teased over.

His husband wears a smooth thick coat, the kind one would probably find hooked on a rack at a nice restaurant, with four sleek buttons down the center he never bothers to clasp because Keith knows the look is probably meant as much for fashion as it is practicality when they’re going out.

And then there’s Keith, a typical biker jacket from his father shucked on in a second or two. He’d gotten it as a teen but his shoulders never fit quite right until much later thanks to some years of working out. Of course _that_ was followed by Lance ogling over his biceps with those less than subtle gropes every other minute.

“You ready?” Lance asks once Keith half-zips his jacket and adjusts either sleeve.

He sniffs. “Yeah, you?” He absently reaches to his side, hand hovering with Lance’s stalled response until it finally grasps the doorknob and gives the handle a turn.

“Yup— _Oh_ , would you look at that!”

He groans.

God, he can’t go through one day of December without this. Lance’s pestering little mistletoe game drives him insane with blushing fondness, like getting his cheeks pinched while cooed at or something. To Lance, Christmas is just as much about kisses from Keith as it is about _joy_ and _happiness_ and _gifts_ from anyone.

But there’s one thing.

He… He doesn’t know. Or really, he can’t quite debunk Lance’s little hints of mischief the way anyone else can. He doesn’t actually _know_ if there’s a mistletoe hanging over the shower, or the couch, or every room of the house and every door frame in between. He can’t know from just one brief glimpse before rolling his eyes and giving his husband a small shove for these boyish antics.

“You’re so lucky I’m blind,” he says.

The doorframe is an actual fitting place for a mistletoe, but who’s to say Lance, mister I-don’t-feel-like-opening-this-jar, would take the time to pin it up there? He’s… tall. And maybe Keith could just reach, but right now they've gotta get going, and aimlessly waving his hand up high would take far longer than just giving in.

So he does, like every other time. His stifled, exasperated laugh shakes his shoulders, pinches the corners of his mouth, and he let’s Lance move forward with an audible sweep of his shoes against the patch of tile before stealing a sweet smooch.

“It’s all in good fun,” Lance says.

Keith might not know where any mistletoes may be, but he does know Lance smiles from every kiss. He doesn’t have to reach for proof this time when it’s already pressed against his own lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Find exclusive fics on [my instagram](https://instagram.com/arcadevia?igshid=1glmskvy2ceb1) (or works published before they make it to ao3). Previews of these can be found in my [insta fic series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065515).
> 
> The title references schrödinger’s cat. The idea of not knowing whether the cat is dead or alive until opening the box is similar to how Keith doesn’t whether the mistletoe exists until touching it.
> 
> If y’all would like to see more works on this platform, please leave a kudos and comment. I actively pursue writing on insta because the engagement here is shit (no offense, lol), and it’s easier for people to interact when they’re already logged in on social media.


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